“Monsieur knows best,” said Manuel, almost coldly. “His countrymen have conquered us: you are a gallant race, undoubtedly; but one of them has not shown much mercy to my daughter.”
The passionate girl was at my feet—yes, kneeling at my feet, and her supplicating hands were clasped in that attitude of humility that is due only to God. Who taught her the infinite pathos of that beautiful posture? Taught her! She had no teacher, save Nature and Love.
“Josephine,” said I, lifting her gently up, and kissing her fair brow, “you are breaking my heart. I cannot stand this—I must rush out of the house. I have never said I loved you;”—(mean subterfuge!)
“But you do, you do—it is my fate,—it is yours—for three years I have been expecting you—disbelieve me not—ask the Obeah woman. It is true,” and then, hurrying out the words like the downpouring of the mountain torrent, she continued, “Do you love me?—do you love me?—do you love me?”
“I do, Josephine—I do distractedly! But stern honour stands in the way.”
“And what is this honour?” she exclaimed, with genuine simplicity; for it was evident that, if she had ever heard the word before, she had not the remotest idea of its meaning: “Et quelle est cette honneur-là?” and there was contempt in her tone.
I had no words to reply.
“Will this honour do that for you which my father—which I—will do? What has this honour done for him?—tell me, father. Has it put that gay blue jacket on him, or that small sword by his side? Show him, my dear father, the rich dresses that we have, and the beautiful arms. Will honour watch you in your hours of sickness, take you out in the noonday heats, and show you the cool shady places, and the refreshing rippling springs? What is this honour, that seems to bid you to break my heart, and make me die of very grief?”
“Monsieur Manuel,” said I, extremely confused, “have the kindness to explain to dear Josephine what honour is.”
“A rule of conduct,” he replied, with severity, “that was never recorded, never understood, and which men construe just as suits their convenience. One honest impulse of the heart is worth all the honour I ever heard of.”